The Water Is Wide
by dreamsofhim
Summary: Drop by drop, oceans are made. Grissom and Sara. Written for the BestKeptPrivate fic challenge. Prompt: Water.


**Summary:** Drop by drop, oceans are made.

**Disclaimer:** Nope, not mine. No silver has crossed my palm, either.

**A/N:** Written for the **BestKeptPrivate** fic challenge: prompt: water. Special thanks to **phdelicious** for the quick beta.

I love James Taylor. His lyrics grab me in a way no other artist's can. When I first heard this song, I thought of a widower contemplating life after the death of his wife. It just occurred to me this might be a good song for Grissom and Sara – so much of their relationship has been about love and loss. Takes place post CSI Season 6: _Way to Go_. Spoilers for the last few seconds of _Way to Go_.

* * *

_The water is wide I can't cross over  
And neither have I wings to fly  
Build me a boat that can carry two  
And both shall row, my love and I_

_James Taylor – The Water Is Wide_

xxx

**1995 – San Francisco**

Sara Sidle didn't cry over men. She didn't cry at all – not for years. What would be the point? She'd been alone with her tears too many times; the part of her that still hoped for a normal life believed you should be with someone you loved when you cried. Problem was, when she felt like crying there was never anybody she loved to prop her up.

"_No crying, Sidle. That's the rule,"_ she thought, staring at the door to her apartment. The door that Gil Grissom had just disappeared through. The path outside her door was dangerous now, liable to catch her in a strong current and dump her out in Las Vegas like some forlorn puppy. Nope, she couldn't leave her apartment until the urge passed.

So she cried instead, breaking her own rule.

xxx

**February 2002 – Las Vegas**

"_I never knew it could be so hot on a skating rink."_

That damn Grissom. They'd been going along okay in the year since she'd been in Las Vegas. He hadn't renewed their relationship and while that hurt, so many things about her job at the Las Vegas Crime Lab were good and challenging for her, she'd managed to put her feelings for him in a box. True, she still took them out from time to time, but that only led her down the road to longing, so she didn't do that so much anymore.

"_Dammit,"_ she thought to herself as she searched the ice for evidence, forcing herself to concentrate. Useless…he'd said that thing about beauty and she was gone…right back where she'd been in San Francisco on the verge of tears, eaten up with feelings for a man that just couldn't or wouldn't return them.

Later, when she was computing the volume of the ice they'd dug out of the Zamboni, she wondered what kind of heat would melt his resolve. _"Since I met you…shit."_

xxx

**May 2003 – Las Vegas**

The Lab was a mess; water everywhere from the explosion and fire the day before. And her hand hurt. It was already starting to itch, a good sign she supposed, except she was practically itching all over from her run-ins with Grissom yesterday. _"Nothing like almost getting blown up to make to re-evaluate your life,"_ she thought.

When he'd turned down her dinner invitation she'd heard a door closing in her head. It wasn't until later that she remembered it was the sound her old San Francisco apartment door made when it closed.

That morning when she'd gone to her car she'd turned briefly in the direction of the Lab and noticed her wet feet had left prints on the sidewalk, already evaporating in the Las Vegas sun. Maybe it was time to let some footprints on her heart fade away, too.

xxx

**February 2004 – Las Vegas**

She'd lied to get into this scene, but she had to see it and she certainly wasn't going to ask Grissom for permission. He'd been so strange on this case. When she'd seen Debbie Marlin, she thought she understood why he was so caught up. Well, she knew why _she'd_ be caught up in a case if the victim looked him.

She stood in the center of Debbie Marlin's beautiful bathroom and looked around. Clean and fresh…the place smelled like the maid had just been in.

But it wasn't clean and no amount of water was going to carry away the sadness of this place. Suddenly she had to get out of there. Dark thoughts pressed on her and she didn't think they were hers…they were male and very very angry.

Back at the Lab she caught Grissom's interrogation of Vincent Lurie. _"I couldn't do it…but you did…"_ Why was she obscurely pleased that they had sighed in unison after Lurie left the room? Oceans and rivers of regret flowed between them and he didn't have a clue. Prick.

xxx

**February 2005 Las Vegas**

After she pulled herself together, she'd offered him a glass of water and he'd taken it. The expression on his face wasn't pity, thank God, but there had been something there…something. He'd been searching for words and failing. Finally she'd just thanked him and he'd gotten up to leave but he didn't want to go.

Pausing by the door he'd noticed the small collection of paperweights she kept there. He'd bought the one that looked like the ocean for her during their week together so long ago. Puzzled, he'd picked it up.

Then he'd put it back down and left. Before he'd gotten to his car she was crying again, but not about her family.

xxx

**May 2006 – Las Vegas**

Grissom got up from the bed and turned on the stereo. It was a going-to-bed ritual she treasured.

When they had gotten together she'd been surprised that music was a major part of his life. Considering how he could pull obscure literary quotes from the air, it shouldn't have surprised her that he had a similar mental library of song lyrics.

Every night when they went to bed he'd choose a CD; she'd learned to pay special attention to the ones with words. What he might be unable to say out loud would drift through the air like a whisper in the music. She'd have to take the initiative – start the conversation down the road he'd hinted at – but some of their best talks had been since she'd figured this out.

Sara smiled to herself. Every little avenue into this man was precious. Tonight he'd chosen something by James Taylor. _"Good,"_ she thought, _"he wants to talk."_

Taking off her robe, she pulled open the bed covers and lay down. "Sounds like a song about love lost," she said looking up at him.

"It's a traditional song, often sung at funerals and wakes," he said, stroking her hair.

"You're thinking about endings today…"

"Yeah, I am," he said as he stood up to pull off his clothes. Sliding in beside her, he said, "You've made me forget how dark my thoughts used to be, Sara. I've got maybe 20 CDs of Irish ballads…the perfect accompaniment for half a pint of Bushmills and regret. 'The Irish make glorious war and sing sad songs'…I can't remember now who said that."

She laughed, "Am I hearing this right? You don't know who said what you just quoted?"

"You distracted me," he said, kissing her.

"I see," she grinned.

"Sara."

"Yes."

"Do you have regrets?" he asked.

Eyes soft, trying to answer his unasked question, she said, "Not anymore."

As often happened when he was in a mood like this, he was especially tender that night.

The CD was set to repeat. _The Water Is Wide_ came around again as they were cooling down. Grissom pushed damp hair off her forehead. "Sara," he said quietly.

She wiped sweat from his face. "Yes?"

"I'm not ready to say goodbye either."

_There is a ship and she sails the sea  
She's loaded deep as deep can be  
But not so deep as the love I'm in  
__I know not how I sink or swim_

_James Taylor – The Water Is Wide_

**FIN**


End file.
